


Until This Eternity Ends

by Airyckah



Category: MCU, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Asgard, Assistant Darcy Lewis, F/M, Romance, tasertricks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:51:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6965131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airyckah/pseuds/Airyckah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have been weaving in and out of each other's lives throughout centuries. From midnight trysts to prison breaks - the God of Mischief and Darcy Lewis always seem to find each other somewhere in the Nine Realms, even when they run full tilt away from each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until This Eternity Ends

The centuries had brought him many names - some meant to shame him - but he knew no shame for the things that he had done. Loki of Asgard, Loki of Jotunheim - Odinson, Laufeyson; the God of Mischief, the God of Lies. Still a God, no less.

A God who had, however, spent the last 60 years in hiding.

Thor, the useless brute that he was, had spoiled all his careful planning. Because of his not-brother, instead of coming out of the shadows he was instead pushed further into darkness. When his last plot had been foiled, he had fled Asgard - again.

He had spent the last 60 years traveling between the Nine, the Einherjar usually not far behind. He couldn’t be sure what their orders were, and he’d rather not find out too late that the king had put a kill order out for him; so he ran. Which brought him to this dodgy corner of Vanaheim.

The Vanir were the easiest for him to hide amongst. Long ago, before they were absorbed into the Aesir, Vanaheim had been Frigga’s home. It was the Old Gods’ magic that she had taught him as a child, Vanir magic he wielded. He could easily disappear into the background here; and he had. It had been months since he had caught even a glimpse of the Einherjar, meaning that for the time, he was well hidden.

.oOo.

She sought refuge from the torrential downpour by dodging into a little tavern on the edge of the town. It was a small establishment that wasn’t very busy - then again, in these parts of Vanaheim, places like these never were. Wrought with the type of people a lady shouldn’t associate herself with, people tended to avoid taverns down dark alleys. 

It was a good thing she wasn’t a lady.

She made her way to where the owner stood behind a wooden counter, lowering her hood and removing her riding gloves as she approached. He was a large, burly man - an unusual breed in Vanaheim. The Vanir, the Old Gods, were usually slender and lithe, from millennia of favouring magic and scholarly pursuits over sword fighting and war mongering. Not to say they couldn’t fight; they just did not rely on brute strength like the Aesir. At the end of the Aesir-Vanir war, when the Vanir were essentially absorbed into the Aesir, their cultures began to meld. In most cases, however, the Vanir who were partial to more physical ventures tended to leave for Asgard, which left the Vanir who remained seemingly unchanged from their ancestors. 

Or so she had read, anyway.

“Do you have a room available, sir?” she asked, setting her gloves down on the counter before her. The burly man nodded, though frowning.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer a more pleasant establishment, milady?” he asked. “Not that I mean to turn away business - we just don’t see too many maidens venturing in here. ‘Cross town there is a lovely little inn that might be better suited for you.”

The corner of her lips twitched up into an amused smirk. “No, I should think not,” she said, now taking a seat. “Thank you for your concern. May I have an ale?”

The man shrugged, setting a glass in front of her.

She turned her head slightly, surveying the rest of the tavern. In a corner table all the way across the room was a group of four, laughing with their drinks in the air, boisterous and celebrating something she cared not about. It was the only other occupant that caught her eye, however.

His long, raven hair was slicked back, and he wore the same black, green, and gold leather and armour that she had always associated him with. That surprised her - hunted by the Einherjar and he didn’t even bother to change his attire. How careless. 

Or arrogant. She couldn’t be sure which.

He sipped on a mug of ale himself, a book open on the table in front of him. Frigga had really succeeded to raise one of her sons with closer characteristics to the Vanir, that was certain. He appeared to be blocked off from the world around him, absorbed entirely in his drink and his literature.

She approached the table with a sly smirk, her drink in one hand as she pulled her hair over one shoulder with the other. She opted for the seat beside him, not across, though he didn’t even twitch as she did.

“I’m in need of no company, particularly if I’m paying for it,” he told her, his voice cold and harsh. This only made her grin wider.

“I’m flattered you would think me stunning enough to be a Vanir lady of the night,” she said, leaning back into her chair and crossing her legs. He finally looked up at her then, his eyes narrowing on her.

“I’m sorry - have we met?” he asked, regarding her with obvious suspicion.

.oOo.

Loki had been aware of her approach before she'd even pushed herself away from the counter. He may have been brash to assume her a courtesan, he supposed, but what other business would a woman as she have in a dump like this? Then she slid into the seat beside him, her eyes narrow and movements slow like a lion on the prowl, and he had felt his suspicions fueled, knowing he needed to shut her down now, before she tried too hard.

He was surprised by her reaction.

He looked at her then, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her with suspicion. She wore a black velvet cloak that was clasped at her neck with a broach of Dwarven gold, though clearly Elven forged. An expensive piece. The dress beneath cloak was made of the finest fabrics in the Nine; soft, flowing, and breathable, he recognised it as a Aesir design. Even women’s wear on Asgard was made to allow for battle if necessary; Sif and her trousers and tunics was a rarity even among capable women. When she leaned back, crossing her legs, he could make out the tell-tale silhouette of a dagger on her thigh under the fabric.

Then his eyes met hers. The icy blue made him freeze for a moment, the light reflection dancing gleefully as she stared back at him. Her hair was long and loose, dark with a natural wave, and she had it all pulled over one shoulder that it cascaded past.

There was something unsettlingly familiar about her.

She wasn’t an Aesir, nor Vanir, that much he was certain. She was too slight. Not slight in her build; no, he could tell even as she sat with the dark cloak hanging over her that her figure was not starved. Wide hips, thin waist, large bust - her shape was not that of the slender and powerful Aesir. Not to say that it wasn’t desirable.

So not Aesir nor Vanir, clearly not an elf - of Alfheim nor Svartalfheim - and most certainly not a dwarf. The most obvious answer that this woman was Midgardian - but how would a mortal have found her way here?

He realised then that whoever this mortal was, there was a familiarity to her almost made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t place it, but he knew that they had crossed paths.

“I’m sorry - have we met?”

Her full lips tightened into a smile and she raised her ale to her lips, taking a long drink of the cool liquid before setting the mug down on the table. “In passing,” she said quietly. “You knew a dear friend of mine, long ago. Jane Foster?”

Loki felt his entire body stiffen at the name. Thor’s mortal? But what was this woman’s connection to that -

“The assistant,” he said finally, realisation setting in.

The girl smiled again. “You do remember!”

“Hel, woman - have you brought the Einherjar with you?” he asked, bracing himself to run. The woman, the blasted mortal - just laughed. 

“Oh Gods no,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “They’d just as quickly cart me away as you. And the name is Darcy - Darcy Lewis. Not ‘The Assistant’.”

Loki relaxed, but only slightly. Then he was brim with questions. “What of Jane Foster?” he chose to ask first.

The woman - Darcy’s - smile never faltered, though the dancing in her eyes seemed to stop, if only for a moment. Her voice was prim when she spoke again, her back straightening as looked down to her drink. “Long since gone, I’m afraid,” she told him. She must have took his frown as a question, for she continued; “Turns out, while the Bifröst is completely safe for your space-living, immortal arses, the same cannot be said for mortals. She said it was from the cosmic radiation or something - basically just being exposed to space unprotected. Cancer, anyway. She wasn’t even 35.”

Loki frowned. How annoyingly fleeting mortals lives were. He wasn’t even certain what cancer was, but he refused to let on that he didn’t know as much. What he did know was that Thor had clearly not thought to find a way to grant his mortal immortality, lest she would never have fallen ill. Finally, he spoke again.

“And what of you?” he asked. “It has been nearly a century since I last encountered you or Jane Foster. By my estimation you too should be long dead - or at least obscenely old,” he said, with a mischievous smirk.

“That,” she said, throwing her head back with a laugh, “Is quite a long story, and ties into why the Einherjar would likely cart me off just the same as you.”

“I suspect,” he said slowly, “That those are both tales I might actually care to hear.”

“Well,” she said, waving a hand at the tavern’s owner and holding up two fingers to him, “That is a tale that deserves another drink.”

.oOo.

“I suppose that it’s your fault, in a way,” Darcy tells the god, running a finger around the rim of her drink. She could see him frowning as she said this and laughs. The entire situation was ridiculous to her - she had toyed with the idea of running into Loki, and what she would do. She had never made a decision, and now she had to admit that it was kind of nice, to see a familiar face - even if it was one that had no idea who she was and that tried to conquer her planet.

“I found one of your pathways,” she told him finally. “The ones you told Thor about, the back alleys between the Nine. It was a short while after Jane passed. Anyway - my parents had died when I was young, you see, and though I was raised by my gran she was ancient by the time I was in High School. She passed before I even made it into college and - you have no idea what any of that means,” she said, bursting into laughter again. “What I’m trying to say is by the time I was an adult, I didn’t have any family, or real connections until I met Jane and Erik. And then you tried to blow up Puente Antiguo.

“I guess after that I was kind of looking for excitement. Nothing of notice ever happened in my life; then Thor falls from the sky and me and Jane were working with SHIELD and there was superheroes and aliens and I lived through all of it to just run and get coffee and enter numbers on a computer. I tried everything. I went skydiving, rafting, mountain climbing - anything that was a little dangerous, I was there. In four years I had seen Earth - Midgard - from top to bottom. It was amazing, but it still didn’t fill that little void you had created by showing my world what was out there in the universe.”

Loki had turned so he was more directly facing her, and she couldn’t read the expression on his face. She couldn’t decide if it was interest or boredom; but she kept talking regardless.

“So anyway - I was on this one expedition, mountain climbing, and there was an avalanche. There was nothing we could do. The lot of us got swept away, I was knocked out cold - but when I woke, I was on the river bank in fucking Asgard. Next thing I know Thor is trying to convince Odin to send me home on the Bifröst, but Odin wants to throw me off the goddamn Rainbow Bridge - A+ dad you’ve got there, by the way - so I may or may not have stolen Sleipnir. I figured if I wasn’t mortal, then they couldn’t just cast me out - ”

“ - wait - what? You stole Sleipnir?” If Darcy had been unsure about whether or not she truly had the god’s attention, it ended then. His eyes were wide, almost with excitement, the corners of his mouth turned up into a slight smile. “I’m sure the old man took that well!”

“Well, keep in mind the Einherjar are looking for as much as you,” she giggled. “And besides, stole was the wrong word. More like borrowed. Smart horse… Took me to where I wanted to go, and went straight back to the king himself. Anyway, the point is, at this point I knew where I was going. You see, when Jane was diagnosed with breast cancer, Thor did everything he could to try and help her, but she refused any magical help. No Asgardian magic to heal her - even these magic little apples that would take away her mortality.”

Loki frowned then, slightly confused about what he was hearing. “Thor offered her one of Idunn’s apples?” he clarified. “There is no way that Odin would have allowed such a thing!”

“I don’t think he did,” Darcy agreed. “Thor was all secretive about it when he did bring it up. Me being me kept asking questions - Thor claimed that if a mortal were to make it to the peak of the mountain in Asgard where Idunn dwelled, then they would prove themselves worthy of ascending from Midgard. So of course, I figured if I could make the journey, the king would have no choice but to let me stay.”

Loki’s face softened with realisation, his eyes meeting hers with a soft twinkle. “You made the journey? You’ve seen Idunn’s orchard?” Mesmerised might be the best description.

She laughed, a light, bouncing sound that filled the whole room. “Orchard? Is that what she tells you all she grows up there? It’s a single tree. One, lonely apple tree on a mountaintop with a little hovel that she sleeps in. And when I crested the mountain, and saw her standing in front that tree, she looked downright angry at me. She congratulated me on surviving the journey, offered wine in celebration, and told me that she could not part with even a single one of those apples. It was all for naught.

“Except that Idunn, apparently like every other Aesir, enjoys the drink. So I plied her with wine until she fell asleep beside the fire we had stoked to share, and I grabbed one of those apples and ran.”

Loki’s voice sounded utterly exasperated, entirely vexed: “You stole one of Idunn’s apples?”

She laughed again. “Okay, so stole is fairly accurate in this case. Anyway, I was told if I made it there I’d get a damn apple! How was I supposed to know it was forbidden or whatever. Yeah I stole the fucking apple, and I ate it, and a century later, here we are.”

“And the king and Thor turned on you, I suppose. Well, I will admit, that was a much more fascinating story than I was expecting. But why are you here, Lady Darcy?”

Darcy rolled her eyes, her voice edged as she spoke. “Do not call me Lady, Silvertongue. I am no scared, quivering maiden. The answer you’re looking for is ‘coincidence’, I assure you. I have spent the last century avoiding the Einherjar and any Aesir that may recognise me, all the while traveling the Nine and seeing what each realm has to offer. I’ve learned about the art of war and combat from what Aesir I was safe around, and I learned the secrets of magic and studied the history of the realms with the Vanir, though I have no affinity for magic myself. I learned to play the most beautiful of music from the Light Elves, as well as the most sensuous secrets of pleasure. I’m not some noblewoman from the Courts of Asgard who is going to hang off the every word of a prince, fallen or not.”

Loki’s emerald eyes narrowed again, harsher even, brim with anger. “I’m no prince, nor was I ever,” he spat, drawing his body closer to hers. 

“But you were, Trickster. The prince of two worlds, the would be conqueror of a third, and king of none.” It was a wicked grin that she looked at him with then, almost a dare. For what he wasn’t sure, but that wicked smile and her sharp words stoked his anger, and he reached out to her.

He wrapped his long fingers around her, digging into the back of her neck. “Do not mistake immortality for invulnerability, my dear. Your words might encourage me to make you realise you never leave mortality behind.”

“Longevity, I believe, is more accurate… we shall live until the universe stops, unless we are killed. I’m aware of the limitations, Loki, but I think you are even more so.” When she tried to pull away from him, his grip tightened on her.

He had to give credit where credit was due, and if Darcy felt even an inkling of fear, she was not showing it. If anything she looked amused, staring back at him with those ice-blue eyes, her eyebrows raised slightly. He raised his other hand to her then; reaching for the soft skin around the front of her neck. He wanted to see her squirm; her confidence waiver. He was sick of her fearlessness - how was it that this woman had once been a simple, mortal girl?

And yet she staunchly stayed her ground.

“I will not show you fear, Loki Odinson; however I am willing to bet he will not allow you to choke me with your bare hands in plain sight in his inn.” Her eyes glanced past him for a moment, falling on the burly man behind the counter. Loki grinned back at her.

“I’ve been projecting an illusion since you came over here. So far as anyone can see we are sitting back, relaxed and visiting like old friends.” He chuckled, his breath hot on her cheek. Finally, if only for the tiniest of moments, something flashed in her eyes, her smile faltered.

There, that was just what he wanted to see.

Getting what he wanted finally, he eased away from her, sitting back into his chair and turning back to his book and drink. He could hear Darcy still beside him, breathing heavily. The sound of her own hands rubbing on her skin; without a glance he knew she was massaging where he had held her. 

“Never took you as the type to get a girl all worked up and walk away,” she quipped, her voice slightly hoarse. 

He wanted to laugh at this. “I thought you weren’t the type to crawl all over a fallen prince,” he shot back. Hel, he could hear her grin.

“Not in the way you’re used to, I’m sure.”

She was quite the enigma. Sometimes she would speak with the grace of a proper lady; other times, with no more elegance than that of common Midgardian drivel. She was clearly well versed and yet she chose to outright ignore it, defaulting to her mortal world’s tongue and behaviours. Oh, how he wanted to crack that pretty skull open just to see how it all worked inside that brain of hers.

“If it was companionship you sought, I told you once already tonight I was not in need of such,” he told her, not looking up from the book that had once again grasped his attention. Her laughter reverberated around him, and he realised she had leaned toward him. 

Her arm rested on the back of his chair, her fingers beginning to play with the ends of his raven locks. “I believe,” she said, her voice low, “What you said was you had no intentions of paying for companionship.”

He fought the urge to look at her, continuing to focus instead on the written word that had done more than occupy him before her appearance here. But the surging ache that ran down his body made him realise it was only a matter of time before his body responded to her in a way that as of yet his mind fought. As he grappled with the thought, Darcy had clearly thought she had already won, for she turned to the tavern keeper then, her fingers still twined in his hair.

“I shan’t be needing that room,” she told the man, that sly smile wide across her face once again.

“That’s terribly presumptuous, you harlot,” he told her, only slightly annoyed with the accusatory look the tavern keeper threw in his direction. Then, standing, he looked down on her, book and drink in hand. “I would think I would be more interested in hearing more about your… adventures as the first Midgardian to ascend to the higher realms in - well, millennia I’m sure.”

He turned away from her then, setting his empty mug on the table as he walked away. Darcy didn’t move from her seat; she watched him walk towards the stairs that led to the rented rooms. He paused at the bottom of the stairs, and without looking back at her asked, “Are you coming then, or not?”

Darcy fought the genuine smile that threatened to spread across her face, and slowly rose to her feet to follow behind him. 

His room was at the end of the hall at the top of the stairs. It was a surprising large room for such a small establishment, but very simple. A small, plain wood chair was pushed under a similar desk against one wall, and against the opposite wall was a surprisingly large bed over which was a shuttered window, and at the foot a basic wooden trunk. 

Loki set the book down on the desk next to a small pile of other tomes, and pulled out the chair. He collapsed into it, resting his elbows on the arms and steepling his fingers in front of his chest.

“Have a seat, Darcy,” he said, bowing his head slightly to the bed. Darcy did; sitting on the edge, she crossed her legs and leaned back, resting on her elbows. 

Seeing her laid out before him made his mind reel with the realisation of just how long it had been since he had lain with a woman. He lets his gaze pass over her, watching as she reaches up to release the broach that kept her cloak around her, shrugging it off her shoulders. For the first time he gets the full effect of the Asgardian garb she wore; the dress was a deep ashen purple, stark contrast to her fair skin. The sleeves were braided straps of fabric; sleeveless dresses were common among Aesir women as they were less restrained, allowing for more physical movements. Over the dress she wore a gold breastplate, again common wear for Aesir. It stopped at her waist, allowing the dress to flow out from under it, cascading down her hips.

The skirt of the dress seemed to be made of layers of sections of banded fabric; the lengths parted over her knees, and from beneath he could make out her leather riding boots.

“So how is it, Darcy Lewis, that you have ended up here, in the darkest corner of Vanaheim that even the Vanir avoid?”

She stared at him for a moment, clearly considering how to proceed to answer his question. “There is an institution two days ride from here,” she said finally, sitting up straight. “The students there study everything from history, to politics, to astronomy. They have a stunning observatory, and an even more beautiful library larger than any I’ve seen.”

“Aye; I know of it.”

“I studied there, a few years ago. I’m returning after spending some time in a kind of field study; learning first hand about the Vanir governing system on both a higher and lower level; from courts to these small townships.”

Loki looked genuinely impressed, raising one eyebrow at her. “I never took you for an academic, to be blatantly honest,” he told her, “Never mind to have enough interest to immerse yourself so in politics.”

She laughed again. “On Midgard, before I was Jane’s intern, I studied political science, not astrophysics. I wanted to make all these changes; help the world, and whatever other nonsense. Then Puente Antiguo happened, then New York - and it all seemed so pointless.”

She paused for a moment, then proceeded to begin to loosen the ties on the side of her armour. Loki frowned at her, reaching a hand out to tell her to stop. 

“What are you doing?”

She frowned back when she looked at him, but only paused for that moment, continuing her actions. “Calm down, Don Juan,” she said; “Do you have any idea how uncomfortable women’s armour can be? I’ve been wearing this since before sunrise, my lungs need a break from the constriction.”

Loki relaxed, slightly. 

“Besides, I thought the whole point of me coming up here was I was seducing you.”

He chuckled. She seem surprised by the sound, though it was admittedly darker than any other chuckle she had heard in her life; she couldn’t decide if the sound was meant to be ominous or not. Deciding that he could have harmed her long ago had he wanted to, she relaxed as she pulled the metal piece over her head and dropped it to the floor. 

“For someone who has claimed to have been a study in sensuality with the Elves, you’re attempt at seduction seems frail at best.”

She was now removing her riding boots.

“I do things my own way; just because I know how an elf would get you out of your leather doesn’t mean that’s how I want it done.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, stretching her toes now that they were released from her equally constraining riding boots.

She rose to her now bare feet.

“For example, if I were a lovely elven maiden, I might keep my distance,” she said, stepping backwards, putting more space between herself and Loki. “Definitely walk with a far too accentuated sway in my hips, and probably try to appear as shy as possible.” She turned away from him as she put more space between them, looking back over her shoulder but purposely avoiding his gaze as she walked in such a way she could be dancing. 

“I prefer something a touch more direct,” she declared, turning back to him. “That face right there, that shows me what I’ll keep - it’ll be the sultry walk.” She was coming towards him then, with same long, slow steps. “But instead of keeping my distance, I’ll close it.”

She was holding herself over him now, mere inches separating them instead of an entire room. He could feel the soft fabric of her dress brushing lightly against his knuckles, and before he had the mind to stop himself his hands were at her hips, pulling her against him. Her dress hitched up as she straddled him, his hands helping push the fabric higher, until he reached the leather strap of her holster.

“This needs to go,” he whispered, hoarse and raw as he unbuckled the strap. His gaze stayed level with hers, her grip on his shoulders tightening; while one hand pulled the dagger - still safe in its sheath - away from her, the other ventured higher.

His other hand, now free after unceremoniously dropping her weapon aside, reached around the back of her neck, pulling her down to his lips as his fingers reached home and she mewled against him.

He drank that sound like he was a man lost in the desert, and she was the oasis. She returned with equal fervor, pausing only to gasp at the surprise of being lifted as he stood. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him tighter against her as he set her down on the edge of the desk, the chair toppling over with a crash that neither of them heard - or that both ignored, instead their full attention on each other. 

So this is lust.

He managed the coherent thought with much concentration. He’d met desirable women before that he had bedded; he was not naive in the ways of sexual attraction. Never before, however, had a tryst resulted in such a complete lack of control over himself. Loki had always prided himself on his control in every situation; he knew when to speak, how to speak, when to act, and how to act in nearly every situation he had found himself in; and yet here, now, with Darcy Lewis he found himself unable to do so. 

At this exact moment she occupied every fibre of his being; her teeth on his lips, her hands that were slowly unraveling the workings of his leather garb with blind precision, her thighs - tight and hard on his hips, holding him flush against her. At the core of his mind was the thought of burying himself deep into her.

Just the thought made him groan - or maybe it was her teeth scraping against his jaw. He couldn’t be sure.

All he could be sure about, was he had never felt a lust this strong. 

When she had freed him of all but his trousers and her own arms were out of her dress - leaving it to nothing more than a band around her waist - he gripped her hips again, forcing her to stand and turn her back to him. 

Bent forward slightly with her palms flat on the cool wood surface of the desk, she groaned as he filled her. Then his hand was on her neck again, forcing her to arch her back and turn her head enough so he could capture her lips with his.

Her body ached deliciously; his hand, tight on her neck and holding her, the rough pressure of the edge of the desk against the front of her thighs - but what ached most was the pulsing need that was coiling deep within her. 

She tried to pull against him, to lean over slightly, but his hand on her throat was like iron, keeping her still and under his control. Instead the fingers of his free hand found that spot she needed touched so badly and his dark, gravel voice was in her ear, “Now,” and she came completely, utterly undone. She let out a strangled cry as her body tightened and jerked - or at least tried to, of its own accord. Loki was still too strong, and he held her still as she rode out the wave that crashed over her so suddenly that she found herself struggling for breath. 

He came almost immediately after her, burying his growl into hair. She shuddered against him as he slowly relinquished his grip on her, and then collapsed forward onto the desk in front of her. 

“Hel,” he muttered, at the same time as her “my God,” and then she let out a soft chuckle that made him frown. He pulled away from her, fixing his trousers as he did.

“Laughter isn’t the reaction I would normally expect after that show,” he said coolly, his brow still furrowed. 

Darcy took another moment to compose herself before standing and turning to face him again. “That’s good laughter, Loki. Very good laughter.” She did the opposite that he had; instead of fixing her dress so it was worn properly, she pushed it passed her hips and let it fall to the ground, so she was fully undressed in front of him. 

“Good enough, in fact, I might insist on a do over,” she told him, reaching out and pulling his lips down on hers once again.

.oOo.

He was woken in the middle of the night to the cool steel of her blade pressed into his throat. She was knelt over him, straddling his waist, and the light that shone in through the open window was just enough for him to see the hatred - the rage - in her eyes. 

“Do it if you must,” he told her, deadpanned, and she raised her eyes in surprise. “You don’t think I haven’t been waiting for Hel?” he asked. “The things I’ve done I’m certainly not finding my way into Valhalla. You do the things I do and you know punishment could be around any corner.”

He could hear her the creak of the leather on the hilt of her weapon as she tightened her fingers around it. The frustrated cry she let out made him genuinely cringe, the blade just barely starting to break skin. 

“Hundreds of thousands of my people died because of you, Loki. Hundreds of thousands of men, women, children who will never get to live the lives they should have, because you cut them short. People who will never see the wonders of our own world nevermind the rest of the Nine.

“I’ve spent the last century wandering the realms, the possibility of somehow finding you always on the back of my mind. What would I do? And tonight when I walked into this hovel and saw you sitting there, it all clicked. I knew what I needed to do. I would make sure you were vulnerable, and I would slit your throat.”

When Loki spoke, it was slow and quiet, as though if his voice were any louder the knife would do its damage.

“Will revenge make any of it better?” he asked her, seriously. His hands were on her legs, digging in. “As I said, do it if you must. But be certain that taking my life will quench that fire, because if not you’ll be just as lost as you are now, and a murderer on top of it. I can tell you in complete honesty that killing in rage won’t help you - it is exactly how we find ourselves in our current position.”

She was shaking. Finally the pressure released and he heard a soft thud as the knife hit the floor. Before he could speak again or even react, her lips were hard against his, and her hips were rolling into him. 

“Darcy - ” he gasped, breaking the kiss, but her voice was forceful.

“Shut up, Silvertongue. Has anyone ever told you talk too much? If I can’t kill you, the least you can do is distract me with something that will make me feel anything,” she snapped, and for once, Loki had no argument.

When he woke the next morning, Darcy was gone.

.oOo.

It was another 122 years before they saw each other again. Not that Loke was counting, of course.

At first he wasn’t sure it was even her. He had first gotten a mere glimpse of her across the crowd at the Festival of Lights in Alfheim’s capital city. She pushed her way through the crowd, clearly flustered. She held an elven scarf around her in such a way as to obscure her face, and the only reason he realised it was her was because the angle of where he was to her, he caught a clear glimpse of her. 

The flash of gold about 20 feet behind her tipped him off as to what she was running from.

Two centuries and still the Einherjar chases her, he mused, Odin really is unhappy with her.

With no more than a thought, he was in an alley not far ahead of her. As she made her way past him, he reached out, wrapping his arms around her, a hand sliding over her mouth to muffle her surprised cry. He held her tight for a moment against him, until the Einherjar had passed as well, and then whispered in her ear. 

“Quiet, now,” he said, pointing into the crowd ahead of the Einherjar, to where his illusion now was. An exact duplicate of Darcy led the fools away. “This way, before they realise ‘twas merely an illusion.”

Her laughter reached his ears and he thought to himself, oh that sound. As they continued through the alley to where it led out onto a sidestreet, the fear bled from her body until she was once again moving with the grace he remembered; the careless sway of her hips that was accentuated by the fabric that fell down her body made his mind wander back to that night they had spent together in Vanir. 

His grip on her wrist tightened as he coaxed her through the streets wordlessly, leading her away from the dangers of the Einherjar and to the rooms he paid for a few blocks up from where the festival was being held. While he was glad she didn’t fight against him, he didn’t dare let her loose from his grasp.

Once safely inside, she collapsed onto one of the velvet upholstered chairs that had came with the furnished rooms.

“I never thought I’d be glad to see you, Trickster,” she said, her head falling back and a pleased smile spreading across her lips. She looked at ease at last.

“I was surprised to recognise you,” he replied, taking the other chair. “Actually, I’m more shocked to see you have evaded the Einherjar for as long as you have.”

She lifted her head, her teeth now bared as her smile widened. “Honestly - most of the Nine find the novelty of a Midgardian Immortal too amusing to turn me in. Instead, they are far too interested in seeing me learn their customs and the like; this past week I was working with one of the best fabric weavers in Alfheim to learn the secrets to such luxurious clothing. I just finished this dress today.” She waved a lazy hand over the deep burgundy that covered her. Beautiful Elven fabric, Asgardian design - likely to allow for more of her rigorous activities - like running and fighting the Einherjar.

“‘Tis lovely,” he told her, though he sounded less than genuine.

“How long has it been?” she inquired at last.

“Over a century,” he replied. “120 years, perhaps?”

“I don’t suppose I will ever be used to how inconsequential such large amounts of time are,” she said with another little laugh, and he just shrugged. 

“A century is nothing for you now. I think the issue is you still think like a mortal. You need to expand your horizons.” He stood, walking to the window through with the light from the three moons of Alfheim shone, but it wasn’t the moons that he looked to. Over the buildings, he could too see the yellow tinged glow of the lanterns from the festival. “The festival here happens every 100 years. Do you think that in between the Elves wait in disappointment that such a long time before the next celebration? I daresay that they shan’t.”

“Asgard, if we are to believe in the histories, has existed since the birth of Yggdrasil and our universe. Have any Aesir lived so long as well?” When Loki shook his head, she continued. “Still, they shan’t die natural deaths. No Aesir becomes infected or suffers from disease, and while you do seem to age over great expanses of time, you all do die - you all die warriors’ deaths in the passion of battle to reach Valhalla. But it’s not just you - every creature of every realm of the Nine is immortal unless slain, with the exception being the humans of Midgard.”

He frowned at her. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Darcy,” he snapped, annoyed. “You do nothing but point out your people’s inferiorities. You die from plague, from disease, from age; half of your kind are forced to wear spectacles, as I believe you were forced to before you ate that damn apple, because half of your kind is so weak as to not even be able to see properly.”

Her lips curled into a cool smirk. “Then listen to me, Silvertongue,” she replied quietly. “I don’t wonder if you - and now, myself as well - are the cursed ones, for living the way we do. Humans, because their time is so short, have such a greater appreciation for life. They get things done in a fraction of the time, because they must! In their decades compared to your millenias, they lead full lives; they find love, they raise families, they go to war to fight for what they believe in, not simply for honor. They create music and art that lasts long beyond the span of their lives, and do many of the things you do with magic without magic.”

“You talk about them like you’re not one of them anymore,” he noted aloud. She shrugged, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back.

“I’m an in-between,” she told him, “Neither human nor Aesir, a lost soul trapped between worlds. I can exist with neither, so instead I fall to the Nether.” Her voice was low, quiet, and the weight of her statement washed over him like a wave. She was adrift, and for the first time in his long, long life, he felt the need to be an anchor for someone else - something else other than his own, repressive anger. 

He took two slow steps towards her, reaching out and splaying his fingers out across the smooth skin of her exposed throat. He leaned down behind her, his free hand running over her long, dark locks, smoothing it aside before burying his hand into loose silkiness, his fist clenching and forcing her to draw her head back even further. Her scalp screamed at the invasion and her eyes shot open, but didn’t attempt to fight him off.

“You’re here,” he said, his voice hoarse, “Right now, you are here. You’re not lost in the Nether, you’ve not fallen to the Void.”

His eyes met hers, and her lips parted as she searched his face, as though she was fighting to find a reason to walk away, but she clearly found none. Instead she reached out to him, her fingers gripping the leather on his shoulders and pulling him down to her.

Their last liaison had been all about him; he commanded and she obeyed. Of course he had learned later that night it had been a ruse to get a knife to his throat, but regardless while they had actually been in the act of enjoying each other’s (very naked) company, their coupling had been completely revolved around him. He was very much aware of the dynamic shift in this moment.

He kept his grip on her tight; retaining his control over her, reigning her in. She kissed him with a ferocity that he was neither familiar with nor prepared for; the fervor of their previous entanglement paled in comparison to this single kiss. Where their last encounter was ripe with lust, here he could feel passion spark on his skin, passing over his entire body with each heavy pulse of his heartbeat. 

She broke the kiss, standing. “Bedroom down here?” she asked, already walking in the direction. All he could bring himself to do was nod, utterly distracted by how quickly she shed her armour and clothing. By the time she reached the door, she was completely exposed.

“Are you going to join me or not?” she asked.

She needn’t do so twice.

He was rough with her. He knew by the way she had come so clearly unravelled during their first tryst that she didn’t mind; he would go as far as to say he was fairly certain that was how she enjoyed him the most. It was raw; it brought her back down and grounded her. Sometimes having control taken away can do that, and Loki sensed that was exactly what she needed then. 

Their second go was far more placid. 

They moved slowly; relishing the feel of skin on skin, exploring each other in a way they had never before. Loki took inventory of every freckle, every scar on her body. He took note that when he touched her here, like this, she made a certain sound; and when he touched her there, like that, she made another. 

It was so late when they finally collapsed into each other, completely spent from their activities, that Loki was certain he could see the faint glow of sunlight beginning to fill the sky. Slumber called as two thoughts fought for the spot at the foremost of his mind; I could get used to this, and please don’t let me wake alone this time.

This time it was Darcy that woke the next morning alone, all signs that the God of Mischief was ever in the rooms cleared away.

.oOo.

Only 34 years passed by until the next time they saw each other, the last one of which he had spent locked away in an Asgardian prison cell.

Odin must have spent centuries perfecting this cell just for him. He could cast his magic inside, but not through the walls of the cell. He had tried. He had attempted to teleport through the cell walls, but was slingshotted back, landing hard against the far wall. The best he could muster was was an illusion of himself on the other side, and even then, could only manage to having the double stand a few measly feet away.

Frigga was visiting when he saw her. Through an illusion, of course, for the fallen prince was not allowed visitors. Frigga’s visitations made him more angry than anything; clearly, Odin had either not thought to disallow magic coming from both in and out of the cell, or else he had clearly made the restrictions one way to allow his mo- Frigga - to visit. 

She had been chiding him, as it would be, when the Einherjar brought Darcy in. Their eyes met as she was forced past his cell, a sly smirk passing across her lips when they did. Loki let out a gentle sigh of relief when she was unceremoniously shoved into the cell next to his; one of the simple cells, nearly primitive in its barred structure. 

“You know the Midgardian,” Frigga observed, and Loki turned back to her with narrowed eyes.

“I do not,” he denied, but Frigga’s face told him she did not believe him.

“More childish lies,” she accused, “Two centuries on the run, Loki. If you had only shown remorse for your actions, repentance, your father may have show more leniency with you - ”

“He is not my father, Loki snapped, a wave of anger rolling over him that boiled out, causing his magic to go slightly awry and the book he was reading, which was now open on the chaise a few steps away from him, to snap shut. “And leniency would not have been shown either way - I was to be made an example of, regardless of repentance or remorse.”

“Then am I not your mother?” she asked, sadness passing through her eyes.

He froze. To deny Odin was to deny Frigga. The one person that had favoured him over Thor, who had raised him in the craft of the Vanir, who had so enthusiastically allowed him to favour scholars over warriors. Frigga most certainly, without any hesitation, was his mother, but his greatest flaw was his stubbornness, and that was what forced him to deny it even now.

“No,” he said, knowing she, as she always did, would recognise the lie in his words, “You are not.” She reached a hand to him and he did the same, dispersing her illusion so he was alone again.

.oOo.

Darcy untied the ribbon that tight around her wrist as soon as the guards had unshackled her and left. She pulled her hair up with it, haphazardly tightening it into a half-knot on her head that a few wild strands fell out of carelessly. 

She didn’t jump when Loki appeared in her cell, against the wall closest to his, like he had expected her to; in fact, she barely reacted at all. 

“Darcy,” he said, his voice higher than usual with what she disregarded as surprise. “How did you get caught?”

She grinned her sly little grin. “It might have been a little bit on purpose?” she said, posing it as a question that made Loki’s annoyance with her bubble over.

“On purpose? Hel, Darcy, you’ve got to be joking. Do you forget what crimes you have committed here? You stole one of Idunn’s apples, as well as the Allfather’s most prized steed. He could, and very likely will, put you to death - need I remind that you still can die from mortal wounds?” 

Her laughter only stoked his rage.

“You’re most fun when you’re angry,” she told him, standing and making her way to the front of her cell. “I’m well aware I could be executed. Which is why I am not staying here - and neither are you.” 

She wrapped her fingers around the bars of the cell where the lock was, and the tell-tale shimmer of magic - gold, in her case, where his was green - wrapped around the lock, bleeding over it. It clicked, and with a proud smile back at Loki, Darcy shoved the door open. 

Loki opened his eyes to see her come round the corner of the cell to the front of his. She placed her hands on the magical barrier between them, and it shattered into shards of gold falling around her. Her pleased smile made him hesitate, and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking at him expectantly. 

“Are you coming, Trickster?” she asked. “Because I’ll have you know I spent the last year with the weirdest Vanir nomads learning how to tap into the universe’s energy to perform even the simplest of magic to get your sorry arse out of here. And - well, now that we’re out of those cells, I kind of need you to get us out of Asgard because my plan only went this far,” she admitted. 

She reached a hand out to him, waiting, the same expectant expression on her face that Frigga had shared when he had denied her form of redemption.

Why was Darcy different?

She had been there when he had tried to conquer her world. She had watched as he had been the cause of thousands of mortal deaths, as he had attempted to slaughter his own brother. She had been one of those mortals; those souls that he had deemed inferior, inconsequential even; and yet now here she stood, hand out, offering to save him from himself. 

That rage fueled, darker side of him screamed out. How dare she! How dare this - this insect offer him pity! Who did she think she was? If he denied his own mother, what made her think he would ever receive her?

And yet, he reached for her.

This was the forgiveness his mother meant. His actions had affected this woman’s life more than he could even begin to comprehend, and yet, here she stood. His Savior, offering forgiveness for all his sins.

He didn’t want to turn her down.

As his hand connected with hers, and he felt his lips curling and parting in a wide grin, and she did the same. 

“This way,” he told her, running past her but never releasing her hand from his.

.oOo.

They are together for only 5 years before he wakes one morning and she is gone. He is confused and lost as to why, and spends the next 87 years searching for her. And yes, this time he most definitely counts.

He follows leads from realm to realm searching all of the Nine for her - less Asgard, of course. He even ventures into Midgard. The once primitive realm surprises him with their advancements in science - they make up for what understanding they lack in magic, he surmises. He also finds his actions have long since been forgotten there.

Eventually he ventures to Asgard.

He expects to be arrested on sight, but is pleasantly surprised to find that with the Allfather deep in Odinsleep, the realm is in the hands of his not-quite-brother, who instead has the Einherjar bring him to the throne room. While the members of the Einherjar give him shadowy looks and prove just how unforgiving the Aesir can be, Thor seems almost happy to see him.

“Brother! You return to Asgard!” his voice booms as he rises from his seat. The lady Sif, who stands to his right, looks less happy, her fingers dancing over the hilt of the sword that hangs off her hip.

“This surprises me. You risk your freedom by returning. Might I ask why, brother?”

Loki’s voice is low when he speaks. “I seek someone who I have travelled the realms searching for. I find it unlikely she will have returned here, but I find I suspect she has, for I find no trace of her anywhere else.”

Thor’s smile falters, but never fails. “This individual must be important to you, brother, for you to risk you life and freedom.” Loki doesn’t reply immediately, instead mulls over Thor’s statement.

Finally, he nods. “She is.” He takes a step forward, and Sif tightens her fingers around her sword.

“Be still, my love,” Thor tells her, holding a hand towards her as though to tell her to stand down. She does, and he takes a step forward.

“Her name is Darcy Lewis,” he tells Thor. “You knew her once. She was a companion to Jane Foster.”

Thor nods. “Aye.”

“She taught me forgiveness, brother, when no one else could. She gave me forgiveness when I deserved none, and it was her forgiveness that brought me redemption.” His eyes met Thor’s. “I am so, deeply sorry for the pain I cause here - for the pain I caused you and mother; and it is only because of Darcy Lewis I can say such.”

Loki felt Thor’s hand on his shoulder.

“I know not for sure, but I have heard gossip of a woman on the edge of the city I have suspected for some time may be her,” Thor told Loki, grinning. “One moment she is the most gracious of ladies, the next she is strong and combatant, speaking our language but in a tongue so odd no one quite understands what she means. Please, go, brother, and find the woman that changed you so when we could not.”

.oOo.

Thor had been right, it certainly was Darcy. She was working as a barmaid in a small tavern. Loki had used magic to disillusion himself, and spent the next two days watching her, fighting the urge to run to her and take her in his arms. He surmised that she lived above the tavern, alone, and that she worked sunup to sundown. 

On the tail of the second day, he made his way up the stairs to her door, and knocked softly. He could hear her, shuffling around on the other side of the door, and when the latch clicked and he was face to face with her again, he found himself unable to move.

“Lok - what are you doing here?” she hissed, grabbing him by the shoulder and dragging him into her room. “You idiot - the only reason I have stayed hidden so well here is because I don’t have the fallen fucking prince of Asgard on my heel!.”

“Thor knows you’re here, Darcy - he knows I’m here as well - who do you think told me where you were hiding?” They stood there in silence for a moment. “Why?” he asked softly.

He could see the panic starting to creep into her eyes, and he reached out to her, wrapping his hands around her arms. Once there was a time when he would have been forceful with her; coax what he wanted to know out of her with anger. He would have let his fingers tighten around her arms like a vice, his strength unrelenting and his voice hoarse with rage.

He could no longer bring himself to be that way with her.

Instead he comforted her. He urged honesty from her with a soft voice and light touch, pulling her body into his. “Darcy, I don’t understand what I did,” he told her, and she looked up at him with a soft gaze.

“Loki,” she sighed, “It wasn’t you. It was just… why me?” she asked, exasperated. “Why am I the Midgard that couldn’t mind her own fucking business, had to climb a fucking mountain and eat one of Idunn’s godforsaken apples? I can’t go home - I have nothing there anymore, and it’s a world so beyond me now. I don’t really belong in any of the other realms. Who am I? And why am I so cursed to spend the rest of eternity on the run?”

When she said this, Loki realised that even though over the last century and a half he had he had changed so entirely that at the core he was not the same person, Darcy - on the other hand - was the same lost and confused mortal that had stumbled into Asgard by entire coincidence. 

She was the same scared, running girl that he had saved from the Einherjar on their second meeting; adrift and lost in an ocean with no land in sight. 

He had wanted to be her anchor, then; and now he wanted to save her just as she had saved him.

She had been wrong, that first night they had met in Vanaheim; their meeting was not a coincidence. The Norns had forced them together. She had been there that night so she could save him - and in return, so he could save her.

“Do you not get it yet, Darcy?” he asked, his hands raising to cradle her face, forcing her to look him in the eye. “You’re not lost, you do belong - you belong with me. I told you once you were here - not in the Nether nor the Void, but here, with me, and this is where you were meant to be. Blessed be the Norns who saw fit to put you in my life, because Hel, woman, I will love you until this eternity ends.”

.oOo.

“Do you think it’s like going to sleep?” Darcy asked as they watched the fading light of Asgard’s sun. “It’s fucking cold,” she said, and Loki wrapped a soft arm around her. “How are you not cold?” she asked.

“Jotun,” he replied dismissively.

They continued to watch the sky as it became darker.

“How does it feel to know that for once in your life you didn’t lie?” Darcy finally asked, turning to look Loki in the eye. 

He frowned back. “What do you mean, Darce?”

“You told me once you’d love me until this eternity ended.”

A small smile crept across his face. “Honestly, a little bittersweet. Eternity wasn’t enough,” he told her, and he leaned down to brush his lips against hers as the light faded with a sickening sense of finality.

.oOo.

**Fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, well, this has been my first attempt at a non-HP fanfic. I hope you all like; please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> \- Airy


End file.
